Protection in Tahoe

A surrealistic car crash triggers an uncanny string of events.

I was driving down I-5, heading toward Lake Tahoe with my husband and kids. The 70 miles per hour speed limit was beyond my comfort zone, and my eyes were glued to the road. So I failed to turn my head to the left when switching lanes. When I saw the car in my blind spot, it was already too late.

Overcorrecting, I had the car zigzagging all over the highway. There was no time to think, no time to feel. All of my focus went into trying to correct that steering wheel. It wasn't until we went flying off of the road that I heard my husband, Dov, who until then had been coaching me in the ways of "savvy" driving, gasp, "Oh, my God!"

A split second of terror. The next thing I knew, we were upside down in a ditch.

It should have felt nightmarish, but instead there was silence.

Somehow, I intuited that everybody was all right. "Well, we don't need these anymore," I stated, removing the keys from the now useless ignition. It was surrealistic to be staring down at the steering wheel.

It should have felt nightmarish, but instead there was silence. It was as if we were outside of ourselves, looking down on the situation. Our two sons, ages 6 and 2, were in the back, suspended from their booster and car seat like cocoons from a rafter. Thank God for safety regulations.

I noticed the smashed windshield. What I didn't notice was that the car was totaled, with a hole in the ceiling and one tire sticking out at a right angle to the rest of the car. The car was obviously in as much shock as I was -- my sense of calmness could not have been otherwise explained.

We had landed in a drained rice paddy. All around us were flooded paddies, which would have drowned us, while the hard surface of the highway would have hurt us. We had landed in the one spot that had softened our fall.

Dov was all action, undoing the seatbelts. We were helped out of the side windows by a variety of people who had magically appeared. Everything seemed fine, except for my lower back which ached. As a result, I was kept supine.

An eyewitness, who had seen our Honda flip over three times, came running with a blanket. When I started laughing, she covered me with the blanket, assuming I was in shock. But I was laughing with gratitude. It was finally getting through to me that we had just narrowly escaped death, and that we had been blessed. Very blessed. Something had protected us against all odds.

Somebody had called the E.R. at U.C. Davis. It started to dawn on me that the car was no longer an option and that we were waving goodbye to Tahoe, at least for now. But Shabbat was coming in a few hours, and our homemade challahs and other delicacies were in the trunk. Where would we stay? How would it all work out?

We let go of these questions as the ambulance arrived, loaded us on, and zoomed down the highway, the siren wailing in our ears.

My six-year-old thought that it had all been a blast. Flipping over was as good as a roller coaster, and the ambulance was a far better adventure than Tahoe. My two-year-old was fixating on the last sighting of his bottle, which had remained behind in the mud.

At the hospital, the children's tests, as well as mine, all came back negative. Nobody had a scratch, in spite of all that broken glass. The children were coloring and the nurses were enjoying them; it was a welcomed change from the various shooting victims and crack dealers who often came under their care.

The doctors would not release Dov. Something was wrong.

As for Shabbat, all of the hotels in Sacramento were filled, due to a weekend-long jazz concert. We telephoned our rabbi and rebbetzin back home in Eugene, Oregon. Half an hour before Shabbat, the Orthodox rabbi in Sacramento that they knew retrieved us. Even our food had been salvaged -- the mechanic who had towed the remains of our car had sent the contents of our trunk to the hospital. Guardian angels seemed to abound, beyond what we then imagined...

The doctors would not release Dov. There was something wrong. They were afraid that there had been aorta damage, which would apparently not be perceived by him, but would result in his demise within days. So an angiogram was ordered, and I didn't see him until right after Shabbat.

In spite of my natural sense of optimism telling me that Dov would be fine, I was restless, eager to know the results of those tests and have my optimism confirmed. Pumped with anesthesia, Dov had effortlessly endured the procedure. His aorta was fine. But there was a radiologist who had carefully studied his x-rays.

"I think that you have lymphoma," she had told him. "You'll want to go straight to the doctor when you return home." This being said to someone who was so healthy that he didn't even have a doctor!

On Sunday morning, we continued to Lake Tahoe, where my sister and her family were waiting. Somehow, we had a wonderful time, without dreading what the radiologist had said and what the following week might bring. Dov had had a past history of reactive lymph nodes. They had never proven to be anything of concern. Probably just that, we had assumed.

But I think that our ability to move on was not really based on logic. There was a sense that God had taken us so far, and would certainly continue to carry us forward. The calm that had defined our reaction to the accident continued, but this time it was not born of shock, but rather of faith.

When we returned to Eugene, the doctor confirmed the radiologist's diagnosis. After a biopsy, it was discovered to be Hodgkins disease. Of all of the possibilities, this lymphoma was considered to be the most curable, especially since it had been caught early. Dov's parents had flown in from Israel that week, and we all shared our relief that Dov's condition had a promising prognosis.

Halfway into his treatment, the doctors were shocked at what they had found.

We managed somehow to feel grateful for what he had been given, rather than resenting that there had to be a condition at all. For Dov, this was a time of tremendous spiritual growth. He was receptive to the power of illness to transform, and transcended the physical challenges of chemotherapy and radiation with hardly a complaint.

And that power of transformation did not stay contained. A mikvah was being built in our small community, and the visiting supervisor, a Chassidic rabbi from New York, gave Dov a very special blessing. "Building a mikvah is a formula for healing," he advised.

So Dov became the local overseer of the building project, in spite of his weakened state.

Halfway into his treatment, the doctors were shocked at what they had found. The tumor had shrunk twice as fast as they had predicted it would. They said they had no logical explanation for this rapid movement.

But we didn't need logic. We had been blessed with "hashgachah pratit" -- personal Divine intervention, and gratification in knowing that there is a reason for everything under the sun.

Featured at Aish.com:

About the Author

Brynn Olenberg Sugarman lives in Seattle with her husband and three
children. They lived in Israel for 9 years, and still maintain strong
connections there. Mrs. Sugarman has a B.A. in Creative Writing from
SUNY Binghamton and an M.A. in English Literature from the Hebrew
University in Jerusalem, and has had poetry published in a variety of
literary periodicals.

The opinions expressed in the comment section are the personal views of the commenters. Comments are moderated, so please keep it civil.

Visitor Comments: 9

(9)
Rose Geller,
August 15, 2008 9:35 AM

Reconnecting with Brynn-a-la (summer 08)

Dear Brynn,
I have thought about you often through the years. Your short story here truly touched me. I have yet to read Rebecca's Journey but long to hear about what she is like now, and how Dov is, and the rest of the family, and you.... I have had a summer reconnecting with so many people from the past following a pre 30-year HS reunion.... Lori actually is starting to connect with Goodman's people on facebook....and checkout the Kaufman's people on facebook, too.... in fact, if you get this message, and I pray you do, please contact me at the my e-mail address listed above, or through facebook, or at the house on Long Island where I remain.... going on 18 years! Good Shabbos to you and yours!

(8)
yair,
January 6, 2004 12:00 AM

thank god

dearest brynn and dov
the story really shocked me
happy to hear you are well
kove
yair israel

(7)
michele guttenberg,
February 25, 2003 12:00 AM

joyous mishpota Brynn Sugarman revealed

thank you for sharing your story with me. i had awoken to another day resisting lonliness, and this is the reconnection my faith needs. b'shalom, michele

(6)
Anonymous,
February 25, 2003 12:00 AM

Awesome!

So with our daily lives miracles hapen. We just need to open our eyes!!!

(5)
betti miner,
February 25, 2003 12:00 AM

beautiful

What a beautiful story of survival, many blessings to Brynn and her family for these miracles. May you be always blessed with many more!

(4)
Emily Rosenberg,
February 24, 2003 12:00 AM

I remember then...

Brynn...chills ran up my spine as I read in your own words the incredible (B"H) story that I had told at Shabbos tables as the amazing example of Hashgachah Pratis that happened to a "family I knew in college" for years since leaving Eugene...Thank you for sharing your incredible story with the world. It was clearly the love of HaShem and His gift to you for being a very strong foundation stone in the building of the Orthodox community in Eugene, Oregon...Love to the family!

(3)
Anonymous,
February 24, 2003 12:00 AM

Wow!

Such an amazing story! Nowadays especially we see so many miracles & we just have to keep praying to Hashem & thanking him for eveything he does for us!
"Hashem yishmar tzeischa uvoecha maeta vaad olam"

(2)
Amanda Palmer,
February 24, 2003 12:00 AM

Inspiring story of who really is in charge of our lives.

(1)
Deborah Scop,
February 23, 2003 12:00 AM

Hashem must love you very much.

Thank you for sharing your story... It gave me strength. My husband shared a similar story with me. When he was in high school in Providence, RI, he was playing football with his friends, and got hit in the back of his neck. He was told to take the rest of the school day off and go to the hospital for X-rays... which he did. They found a tumor at the base of his neck! He was sent to a hospital in New YOrk (Sloane Kettering?) where the tumor was quickly removed. Stories like these really show Hashem is watching over us, and show us the true meaning of Gam Zu Le'Tova -- this too is for the best.

I've been striving to get more into spirituality. But it seems that every time I make some progress, I find myself slipping right back to where I started. I'm getting discouraged and feel like a failure. Can you help?

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

Spiritual slumps are a natural part of spiritual growth. There is a cycle that people go through when at times they feel closer to God and at times more distant. In the words of the Kabbalists, it is "two steps forward and one step back." So although you feel you are slipping, know that this is a natural process. The main thing is to look at your overall progress (over months or years) and be able to see how far you've come!

This is actually God's ingenious way of motivating us further. The sages compare this to teaching a baby how to walk. When the parent is holding on, the baby shrieks with delight and is under the illusion that he knows how to walk. Yet suddenly, when the parent lets go, the child panics, wobbles and may even fall.

At such times when we feel spiritually "down," that is often because God is letting go, giving us the great gift of independence. In some ways, these are the times when we can actually grow the most. For if we can move ourselves just a little bit forward, we truly acquire a level of sanctity that is ours forever.

Here is a practical tool to help pull you out of the doldrums. The Sefer HaChinuch speaks about a great principle in spiritual growth: "The external awakens the internal." This means that although we may not experience immediate feelings of closeness to God, eventually, by continuing to conduct ourselves in such a manner, this physical behavior will have an impact on our spiritual selves and will help us succeed. (A similar idea is discussed by psychologists who say: "Smile and you will feel happy.")

That is the power of Torah commandments. Even if we may not feel like giving charity or praying at this particular moment, by having a "mitzvah" obligation to do so, we are in a framework to become inspired. At that point we can infuse that act of charity or prayer with all the meaning and lift it can provide. But if we'd wait until being inspired, we might be waiting a very long time.

May the Almighty bless you with the clarity to see your progress, and may you do so with joy.

In 1940, a boatload 1,600 Jewish immigrants fleeing Hitler's ovens was denied entry into the port of Haifa; the British deported them to the island of Mauritius. At the time, the British had acceded to Arab demands and restricted Jewish immigration into Palestine. The urgent plight of European Jewry generated an "illegal" immigration movement, but the British were vigilant in denying entry. Some ships, such as the Struma, sunk and their hundreds of passengers killed.

If you seize too much, you are left with nothing. If you take less, you may retain it (Rosh Hashanah 4b).

Sometimes our appetites are insatiable; more accurately, we act as though they were insatiable. The Midrash states that a person may never be satisfied. "If he has one hundred, he wants two hundred. If he gets two hundred, he wants four hundred" (Koheles Rabbah 1:34). How often have we seen people whose insatiable desire for material wealth resulted in their losing everything, much like the gambler whose constant urge to win results in total loss.

People's bodies are finite, and their actual needs are limited. The endless pursuit for more wealth than they can use is nothing more than an elusive belief that they can live forever (Psalms 49:10).

The one part of us which is indeed infinite is our neshamah (soul), which, being of Divine origin, can crave and achieve infinity and eternity, and such craving is characteristic of spiritual growth.

How strange that we tend to give the body much more than it can possibly handle, and the neshamah so much less than it needs!